


(cross) fire

by Luthor



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Ouihaw, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-08-19 04:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20203423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthor/pseuds/Luthor
Summary: Ouihaw prompt: "Shh, they'll hear us."





	(cross) fire

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly working up to write an 'Amelie is in love with every woman' type polyamory series but...... for now, take this. :)

It’s fast approaching midnight, or perhaps already later.

Ashe idles by an unoccupied grand piano, leaning her weight against the edge of it, and surveying a dwindling roomful of socialites whose company she has long since grown tired of being among. To her left, back angled ever so slightly toward her (and her sole reason for still being here), Amélie cradles an almost empty champagne flute beneath her chin and studies her slyly from the corner of her eye.

“Are you having fun, Elizabeth?” she asks, and Ashe rolls her shoulders, rearranges the way her legs cross at the ankles. She gives no outward acknowledgement of Amélie’s query, but for the slight upturn of her red-painted lips. “I remember when you would cause quite a stir at these parties; arriving late, leaving early. And that’s not to mention the alcohol you would drink— the _women_ you would charm.”

Ashe’s smile deepens. “We had our fun, didn’t we?”

Amélie hums, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. In her peripheral vision, she sees Ashe turning just her head to face her. Red-brown eyes leave a shiver beneath Amélie’s clothes as they roam her body, so indiscreet that the room feels several degrees warmer by the time Ashe’s gaze returns to her face.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you, again,” Ashe says, settling back against the piano with a sigh. “I heard you married. Kids?”

“_Non_. No, no kids.”

“Right.” Ashe makes a sucking noise against her teeth. “What’s his name, again? _Julian_-something—?”

“Gérard.”

Amélie does turn to face her, then. She meets Ashe’s gaze and sees an entire lifetime pass in the distance between them. They had been so young, with their entire lives ahead of them, and on two vastly separate paths that it had genuinely surprised Amélie to find Ashe here again tonight, completing a full circle. A voice at the back of her head (faint, that Amélie has been trying to ignore all night), asks again what might have happened to them, if their paths had not diverged.

A shadow crosses behind Ashe’s eyes, and Amélie has to assume that she’s wondering the same.

“Gérard,” Ashe repeats. “I never had you down as the marriage type. Is it serious?”

“He’s my _husband_,” Amélie scoffs, but her gaze is warm, fond. “You would like him.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“He would like you.”

Finally, a smirk at Ashe’s lips. “I doubt that even more.”

Amélie holds her gaze, smiling.

“You would be surprised,” she says, ignoring Ashe’s scoff. “I used to think marriage was a scam, before I met him, a trap.” She shakes her head. “Gérard has always only ever encouraged me to be more of myself.”

“Don’t tell me,” Ashe interjects. “Your marriage is perfect and you’re living your dreams.”

Amélie’s laughter is rich, if quiet.

“Nothing is perfect,” she says, eyes twinkling. “But you are welcome to take a closer look for yourself. I find it is always best to view these types of things from the inside before passing judgement.”

Ashe blinks. “What’s that?”

“Don’t be coy, Elizabeth. You know I’ve always liked to _share_. Our time together was… cut regrettably short, if you recall.”

Ashe looks— _bemused_, and only a little delighted.

“Now, I thought that might have changed, since you…” she juts her chin vaguely toward the rock on Amélie’s ring finger, and then scoffs. “And here’s me thinkin’ this was going to be one of those sombre reunions where we leave teary-eyed and unfulfilled.” She shifts her footing, moving subtly closer. Amélie feels a rush of warmth from the contact of Ashe’s thigh pressing against her own. “Was that an invitation into your marriage, or just your bed?”

Amélie makes a noise like a cough at the back of her throat, and glances away.

She cannot see Ashe’s smirk, but as good as hears it, when she continues, “What would _Gérard_ think, if he could see you now?”

“Probably, that I always seem to get my own way, one way or another…”

“Oh?”

“We have no secrets,” Amélie shrugs. “The same cannot be said of _you_. I know what you’ve been up to, how you earn your money these days.” Her lips pinch, disapproving. “I used to think you were smarter than to get mixed up in all of that, or that one day you might, at least, come to your senses and leave it behind. I can’t say I’m too surprised at being proven wrong.”

Ashe chuckles low in her throat.

When she tilts her head closer, her warm breath against the shell of Amélie’s ear makes her shiver.

“Nobody’s perfect,” she whispers, gaze dropping to Amélie’s mouth, now that she’s close enough to smell the perfume clinging to her throat. “But you’re welcome to take a closer look yourself.”

Amélie blinks slowly and does not meet her gaze. Ashe doesn’t move away immediately, and her presence makes Amélie’s heart thump inside her chest— makes her head dizzy and her vision vaguely blurred around the edges, that she tightens her grip against the grand piano. The room feels like it’s moving beneath her feet.

Beside her, Ashe looks all too pleased with herself, that it allows Amélie to draw back a semblance of her composure.

“Was that an invitation into your _gang_,” she says, studying a painting on the wall directly opposite, “or just your bed?”

Without warning, a warm hand presses between the slit in Amélie’s dress, snaking along her inner thigh. Amélie’s back straightens with a gasp as Ashe reaches the apex of her thigh, fingers squeezing the pliable flesh there, ringed knuckles brushing dangerously close to her underwear. Amélie fights for her composure once more, her grip knuckle-white against the piano, her chest subtly heaving with her too-fast breathing.

Ashe is still watching her, still smiling, as she draws her hand higher, _higher_—

“Oh,” she says, fingers pressing, circling over her underwear, and Amélie swallows thickly. She almost stops breathing altogether. “Who said I was inviting you into _either_? Have you ever heard of an initiation, Amélie? I have to test anyone who wants to get involved with me, make sure they’re up to spec, so to speak. Half the time, they don’t realise what they’re asking to be a part of; they’ve heard stories, they’re fascinated, but they have no idea what they’re getting themselves into.”

Amélie takes a shuddering breath. “Is that so?”

“Mm,” Ashe hums, “which is why I have to put them through their paces before I even consider letting them get any closer. This way, I’ll know if our… _partnership_ will be mutually satisfying.”

“I see.” Amélie wets her lips. “Is this satisfying you?”

She turns her head to catch Ashe’s gaze, and it is a mistake; the look on Ashe’s face is reminiscent of an apex predator, of a wild fire, of everything bigger and stronger than Amélie that will consume her if she gets too close (and she wants to, she wants to get close, she wants to be _consumed_).

Ashe’s smile is devious.

“It’s about to,” she agrees, and slips her fingers beneath Amélie’s underwear.

Amélie— _squeaks_.

“Shh,” Ashe whispers in her ear, and Amélie _despises her_, even as her heart hammers painfully quick against her ribcage.

They are in a room full of other people that Amélie would not be caught dead in this position by, and she knows, already, that she will not stop it, _fuck_, but she does not want it to stop, and one quick glance at the smile on Ashe’s face confirms that she already knows.

“They’ll hear us.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi over at [tumblr](http://luthorao3.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
